Chapter Four: The Betrayal Within
1493 Words
The next few days at Blackthorne Industries were suffocating.
Meetings blurred into one another. Security teams swept through departments. Passwords were reset, devices checked, and whispers replaced the usual quiet efficiency. The leak had ignited panic at every level, and Flora could feel the paranoia thickening the air like fog.
She kept her head down, working longer hours than anyone. Every time she passed the glass walls of Ethan’s office, she caught only glimpses of him, his profile against the skyline, phone pressed to his ear, face hard as granite. He hadn’t called her in again since that night.
And yet, she could still feel him.
Everywhere.
Every time she looked up, she expected to find his eyes already on her.
On the third morning, Clara appeared at her workstation, expression tight.
“Meeting. Boardroom. Now.”
Flora blinked. “Am I ?”
“Everyone involved in the London project is being questioned,” Clara said curtly. “Don’t panic. It's a procedure.”
But her tone didn’t match her words.
Flora followed her through the corridor, pulse thudding in her ears. She could sense the looks cautious, curious, some even hostile. Whispers chased her footsteps. When she entered the boardroom, the energy shifted.
Ethan sat at the head of the long glass table, his expression carved from stone. Around him were three men and two women who were senior directors, legal counsel, and the internal investigator. On the large screen behind them glowed the digital blueprint of the Blackthorne Innovation Wing’ her design.
And beside it, an email thread.
Her stomach dropped. Her name was highlighted at the top.
“Miss Wynn,” the investigator began, his voice neutral. “You recently sent design renderings to your personal email?”
Flora frowned. “Yes. I transferred files to work from home on them. Clara approved”
“Actually,” Clara interrupted quietly, “I didn’t sign off on that specific transfer.”
Flora’s breath caught. “What? You said it was fine last week when…”
“Miss Wynn,” the investigator cut in again, “those same files were found attached to an outgoing message from your personal account. Sent to an unregistered domain traced to a competing firm.”
The room spun.
“That’s not possible,” she whispered. “I didn’t… I didn’t send anything.”
“Do you have an explanation for how those files left your possession?”
“I” Her voice shook. “No. But someone must’ve accessed my account. I can prove it”
“You used a company-issued device. No one else had your credentials.”
The silence was brutal. Every eye was on her cold, assessing, waiting.
Finally, Ethan spoke.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
“Show me the timestamp.”
The investigator clicked through the file logs. “Sent at 10:47 p.m., two nights ago.”
Flora’s pulse spiked. Two nights ago she’d been in her apartment, sketching, revising lighting details for the London model. Alone.
“I didn’t send that,” she said, forcing steadiness. “I swear to you.”
Ethan’s gaze lifted to hers, deep and unreadable. “Then someone used your account.”
“Yes.”
“That would require access to your device and password.”
“Yes.”
He paused. “So you’re saying someone inside the company framed you.”
“I’m saying,” she replied, her voice trembling but firm, “that I’m being set up.”
Vivian Wynn’s voice floated into the silence before anyone could speak. “That’s a serious accusation, little sister.”
Flora froze.
Every head turned as Vivian glided into the room, flawless as ever in a white silk dress and diamond earrings. She smiled, the kind of smile that could slice through steel.
Ethan’s expression barely shifted. “Miss Wynn, this is a closed session.”
“Oh, Mr. Blackthorne,” Vivian purred, slipping into the empty seat opposite Flora, “I was only invited as a consultant on the upcoming PR collaboration, but it seems I arrived at the perfect time.”
Flora’s voice trembled. “You! what are you doing here?”
“Supporting you, of course.” Vivian’s eyes sparkled with feigned innocence. “Mother told me how much pressure you’ve been under. I just wanted to make sure you’re not... overwhelmed.”
Flora clenched her fists beneath the table. Vivian’s tone was syrupy sweet, but her gaze burned with smug satisfaction.
Vivian turned toward Ethan. “If I may, Mr. Blackthorne ,my sister has always been creative. Passionate. But she can also be... impulsive. I’d hate for this to be a misunderstanding that damages her reputation and yours.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked briefly toward Vivian, then back to Flora. His silence was worse than anger detached, analytical, as though weighing evidence, not people.
Flora could barely breathe. “Vivian, you know I’d never do this”
“Of course not,” Vivian interrupted softly. “But the files did come from your account, didn’t they?”
The meeting dragged on like an interrogation. Questions blurred together about access codes, design copies, timestamps. Each answer Flora gave seemed to tighten the noose instead of loosening it.
By the time it ended, the verdict wasn’t spoken, but it hung in the air, heavy and certain.
“Until the investigation concludes,” said the investigator, “Miss Wynn will be suspended from all ongoing Blackthorne projects.”
Flora stared at him. “You’re suspending me?”
“It’s standard protocol,” Clara murmured, eyes avoiding hers. “Temporary. Pending review.”
“Temporary,” Flora repeated numbly.
Ethan hadn’t moved. He just sat there, elbows on the table, fingers tapping, gaze locked on her as though trying to read something he couldn’t see.
“Mr. Blackthorne,” she said quietly, voice breaking, “you don’t believe this, do you?”
He didn’t answer.
The silence shattered something inside her.
She forced herself to stand, the chair scraping against the marble floor. “I’ve given everything to this project. Every hour, every idea, every ounce of myself. And now you think I’d sell it?”
Still nothing. Only that cold, infuriating calm.
Her throat tightened. “Say something.”
Ethan’s eyes met hers at last’ gray, unreadable, the color of storms. “This isn’t about belief, Miss Wynn. It’s about proof.”
The words landed like a blow.
She turned before anyone could see her tears and walked out, each step echoing through the hallway.
Outside the boardroom, she leaned against the wall, fighting for breath. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold her phone.
A message blinked on her screen from an unknown number.
“Told you he’d never choose you. – V”
Her blood ran cold. Vivian.
Vivian had orchestrated this. She had to have.
But how did she access the files? And how had she gotten Ethan’s people to believe her?
Her thoughts went up as the elevator doors opened. She stepped inside, pressing the button for the lobby, heart hammering.
And then a voice.
“Miss Wynn.”
She looked up.
Ethan stood in the doorway, one hand stopping the elevator from closing. For the first time, he looked almost human but tired, conflicted, something unreadable flickering behind his restraint.
For a brief second, hope bloomed. Maybe he’d tell her he knew she was innocent. That he’d find the truth.
But instead, he said quietly, “Hand over your ID and device before you leave the building.”
Her breath caught. “You’re— you’re serious.”
“It's a procedure.”
“Procedure,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “That’s all this is to you?”
He didn’t respond.
The elevator doors closed between them.
And Flora felt the world she’d fought so hard to build collapse into silence.
Outside, rain slicked the streets, blurring the city lights. She walked without direction, her reflection flickering in every splash’ a ghost of herself. Somewhere behind her, in that tower of glass and steel, Ethan Blackthorne still sat at his desk, surrounded by lies she didn’t plant, evidence she didn’t send.
And yet, he had said nothing to defend her.
As thunder rolled over the city, Flora swore under her breath and not from weakness, but from resolve.
If they wanted her gone, fine.
But she wouldn’t stay gone for long.
She’d find the truth and when she did, she’d make every single one of them regret underestimating her.
Her phone buzzed again from another unknown message.
This time, it wasn’t from Vivian.
“You’re in danger. Don’t trust anyone at Blackthorne. Meet me tomorrow. I know who framed you.”
Her heart stopped.
She stared at the number, pulse racing.
Who was it?
A trap or her only chance?
The rain fell harder, drowning the city in silver.
Flora turned toward the storm, jaw set, eyes burning with new fire.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t over yet.
- Writer
